


Illya's New Year

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How will Illya end up celebrating the New Year and with whom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illya's New Year

**Illya’s New Year ******  
By YumYumPM  
2005 revised

**The door slid open and I can hear my partner on the phone.**

**“Yes, I know it’s New Years Eve.” A pause. “But, for me, Marcel. One table, that’s all I ask.” Another pause, as Napoleon notices my entrance and waves me into the room.**

**“Wonderful. Marcel, you’re a prince.” Napoleon says, than laughs at something Marcel says on the other end of the phone. “Nothing but the best,” Napoleon warns. His dark eyes are still laughing as he brings his gaze my way and sets the phone back on its hook. “Something I can do for you, Illya?”**

**We had just returned from an assignment and I had thought to ask if he had any plans. But it would appear I am too late. I shook my head. “No. I was just leaving and thought I would drop in and wish you a Happy New Year.”**

**There is a twinkle in his eye as he responds, “And the same to you, my friend.”**

**That done I turn to leave, irritated that having just arrived back in town Napoleon not only has a date, but somewhere to take her. Everyone with whom I might have had an interest in asking out was already spoken for. And as for trying to get a reservation at this late a date, that was all but impossible. That is for anyone other then Napoleon.**

**Back at my apartment I shower and shave. I don’t know why, there is nowhere for me to go. It is too early for bed so I slip on a pair of jeans, not bothering with a shirt. Having been away, the larder is bare. I manage to find a can of beans and open it, eating directly from the can. After a few bites I give up and toss the can away, beans and all. I roam restlessly through the rooms of my apartment.**

**I turn on my small television, but nothing catches my attention. Perhaps something to drink would help. Before I can pour it, there is a knock at my door.**

**Wondering who it can be, I grab my gun and open the door just a crack. Standing there, resplendently dressed in a tuxedo is Napoleon.**

**“May I come in?” he asks.**

**I cannot help but wonder what has brought him here tonight. Perhaps he wishes to borrow some money? But no, over his shoulder is a dry-cleaning bag, and under his arm is a large package. I reluctantly open the door wider, allowing him in.**

**Swinging the dry-cleaning bag around, he orders, “Put this on.”**

**It is my own tuxedo, left in the care of Del Floria’s after the last time I had worn it. I look at it dumbstruck. “Why?” I ask suspiciously.**

**“Do I need to make it an order?” Napoleon says as he thrusts the package into my hands.**

**I shake my head negative, and head for my bedroom. Perhaps we have an assignment? Strange if true, for Napoleon shows no signs of disappointment at having his New Years Eve plans disrupted.**

**The package contains a crisp white pleated shirt, black tie and matching cummerbund, cufflinks, socks, and shoes. This last item I thought unnecessary. I do have a pair of my own, though I admit they are not as shiny as these.**

**I emerge and he circles me, pauses to straighten my tie, then smiles his approval.**

**“Come on,” he says heading for my door.**

**“Are you going to tell me where?” I query.**

**He merely smiles and shakes his head, leading the way as I follow. Perhaps Napoleon had taken pity on me and arranged a date for me as well. He knew I would refuse if he had asked my permission.**

**We pull up at the most expensive restaurant in New York City. A restaurant that undoubtedly had, for months in advance, their tables reserved for tonight. Now I was not only puzzled, I was nervous as well. If you have ever been refused service by a snotty maître d' you would understand.**

**The maître d' turns our way, and I brace myself. His expression is one of utter delight as he comes forward and greets Napoleon. “Monsieur Solo. Your table is ready.” His French accent is atrocious.**

**I am baffled. He leads us to a small corner table, set for two-not four - two. I sit down, now I am really nervous. The wine steward is waved over and a bottle of champagne set beside us. I look at the label, Dom Perignon and a very good year. This is really going to cost someone, and I have a feeling that someone is me.**

**The salad is brought right away, we had not even ordered. We eat in silence, the dish deserving of appreciation. I cannot help but wonder what the reason is behind all this. “Umm, Napoleon, what exactly is going on? Did you not have a date for tonight?” I ask.**

**Napoleon suddenly looks nervous. He picks at his food then says. “As you are well aware this past year has been trying.”**

**Trying? That is an understatement. “Trying? I suppose you could say that. I only almost got killed in a cemetery. And when I try to inform you of it, what do you have to say? Bye?” A cemetery for me and a blonde for Napoleon, sometimes life is just not fair. I remember being stung that my impending demise merited nothing more. Though why I cannot say. We are associates in a profession where sentiment has no place.**

**“And I’m extremely sorry about that, but I had problems of my own at the time.” Napoleon winced as he looked down at his plate. “Do you remember our next assignment?”**

**“Greece.” I nod. “Ah yes, I almost lost you to marriage,” I can’t resist saying. The thought of Napoleon being forced to marry that Greek girl, no matter how charming still amused me. “We got the job done,” I remind him.**

**Napoleon scowls. “Then back to New York just in time to…”**

**“Have my eardrums almost shattered by a high-frequency sound machine. That was no fun and I had a perfectly good pair of glasses cracked on that assignment,” I complain. “For which I never got reimbursed.” I remember Tavia’s pleas. I also remember giving in, not because of her plea, but because once free of their contraption there was always a chance of outwitting them.**

**Napoleon tutted sympathetically, then he frowns. “Carla.”**

**That one word says it all. A traitor in the ranks. I am glad it was Napoleon’s responsibility to ferret out the miscreant. Frankly I would not have trusted George Dennel as Napoleon had. That is one of the biggest differences between us. Napoleon trusts easily, I do not. He even trusts me. Then the main course arrives and my taste buds water at the epicurean delights on my plate.**

**Napoleon is pointing his knife at me. “Inglestine,” he says. “Perhaps I should have left you in jail.” He is teasing I hope.**

**“You would not dare. But at least that time we had a fairy tale ending,” I joked, as I cut into a slice of juicy meat. After all we did witness a princess marrying a commoner; if that is not something out of a fairy tale I don’t know what is. “For what reason are we going down memory lane?” I ask.**

**Napoleon ignores my question. ”Then it was off to jolly ol’ London…”**

**“Several times,” I observed, thinking back I could recall at least three instances when we had ended up in Great Britain. “To think a man of my innumerable talents having to chase cats in Soho.” This brought a grin to Napoleon’s face. That affair had led to Paris and back. The death count was high, including that of the great statesman, Sir Norman Swickert. Eternal youth in my opinion was not what it was cracked up to be. Did we really want to stay young forever?**

**“Remember Victoria Poques?” Napoleon asks, reminding me of the time, once again in London, that we recruited a professional diamond thief, probably to take my mind off of its dark thoughts.**

**That made me chuckle, the look of disgust on Napoleon’s face when the receptionist at U.N.C.L.E. London had massaged my aching shoulders had been priceless. I soon sobered when I remembered what it had led to. “Brazil.” They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But it almost led to Napoleon’s demise by cannon ball. I shivered thinking on it.**

**“After that we ended up in Africa.” Napoleon was obviously going to go through every place we had been this past year. So I decided to play along.**

**“Twice,” I reminded him.**

**“Three times,” he corrected me.**

**“Three times,” I agreed. I still shudder remembering walking barefoot across a hot desert carrying Barbara in my arms. For awhile I wasn’t sure I would ever make it back to civilization. Napoleon had finally deigned to show up, after I had everything under control, of course.**

**“You ended up in the hospital when a jar of olive oil connected with your head,” Napoleon said, obviously thinking of our second time in Africa.**

**“And you ended up with the belly dancer.” I could not resist reminding him. I hold out my empty glass for a refill. “And the next time you ended up with Girl.” Even in the wilds of Africa, trust Napoleon to find a woman.**

**“What can I say? When you’ve got it, you’ve got it. I’ve got it. You didn’t do too badly on that affair either,” Napoleon pointed out, referring to Marsha Woodhugh who was in Africa searching for her sister.**

**“Did I mention that Major Blackburn tied us up to posts for red ants to attack? I do not understand it, the same thing happened in Oklahoma on the Indian reservation,” I complain.**

**Napoleon looks up in surprise, his fork poised at his lips. “Are you leaving things out of your reports again?”**

**“Technically no. It was your turn to write the report and it just seemed a rather undignified way to go, so why bother to mention it.”**

**Are there any other undignified things you have failed to mention?” Napoleon demands to know.**

**I think about it. “Did I fail to mention how cold the baggage compartment on an airplane can be?” I ask innocently.**

**“Exactly when did you find this out?”**

**“When we were in Switzerland, stopping Abbot Simon from using that laser on the Louvre.”**

**Napoleon nods. I can see him mentally filing the information away.**

**“Must we rehash each and every assignment?” I change the subject.**

**“Bare with me,” Napoleon begs. “Things have been worse, remember when we were exposed to quartzite radiation?”**

**“Fortunately April and Mark managed to get the machine to reverse the effects,” I respond as he pours us more champagne.**

**“Her first assignment and she ends up rescuing us,” Napoleon muses darkly.**

**“Yes, she distinguished herself well,” I admit. Galling as it may have been, we would have died otherwise. I remember our next assignment. “Then you went missing. In Nevada of all places,” I reminded him.**

**“Remind me never to take capsule B ever again.” Napoleon smiles into his glass of champagne.**

**“I hear they have improved on it. You now remember who you are. Just not much of anything else.” I stare in fascination as champagne spewed out of Napoleon’s mouth. I can’t help but wonder what it is like not remembering who you are. Napoleon has never said much about his experience during that assignment. “We did manage to transverse across country a lot this past year. We no sooner got back to New York then we were back on the west coast again.”**

**“True. Narcissus, earthquakes, and Buzz Conway. I wonder if those men ever caught up with Buzz?” Napoleon ponders. He waves the waiter over, requesting another bottle of champagne.**

**“As I said before, their methods are patterned after our own,” I remind him. Napoleon’s face takes on a serious expression. “What are you thinking on now, my friend?”**

**“Bats. Thankfully I had a clairvoyant with me or I would never have found you in time.”**

**I shiver. Being trapped in a cage with a bunch of blood thirsty bats had been very unnerving. But I would never tell Napoleon that. The conversation was getting too depressing, so to lighten the mood I ask. “Been run over by any small trucks lately?”**

**“That truck was not small.” Napoleon bristles with indignation. “At least I was not the one who managed to lose Leslie.”**

**Having to track down Professor Stemmler’s daughter and then losing her was not a something I wish to be reminded of. “No you just managed to destroy yet another suit.”**

**“Ouch,” Napoleon said, bringing his hand to his heart. “That was a low blow.”**

**I suppose I should have felt bad about that, but I do not. And I certainly was not going to mention loosing my gun to Miki, a teenage girl. Napoleon would never let me hear the end of it. Then I remembered the time Napoleon was attacked by a female robot and nobody believed him and cannot help but laugh.**

**“What’s so funny?” Napoleon wants to know.**

**“Remember when Andy and I were trapped in the same building you were in and we escaped by getting on that revolving round bed?”**

**“Don’t remind me. All those robot girls chasing us.” Napoleon shudders. “Nor the pneumonia I caught on the next mission either.”**

**“As you wish,” I agree. I had ended up working with Mark Slate on that one. Mark is okay, but he is no Napoleon. “Only if you promise not to call me ‘little flower’.”**

**“How about ‘pool boy’?” Napoleon teased.**

**“Not that either.” The waiter was back with yet another course. Just how many courses were to this meal, not that I was complaining.**

**“But you look so good all in white. It made a great change from all the black you normally wear.”**

**“Basic black worked well enough for me when we were trying to get the pendant needed to activate the hiccup gas,” I remind him. “Not to mention I almost suffocated in the back room of Ole’s gallery. Drowning in soap suds is not how I wish to go.”**

**“Remember when we were almost blown up trying to stop the assassination of India’s prime minister during the peace talks? Thanks to Nellie Canford’s dental problems, we escaped oblivion when that bomb was set up in my luggage exploded.”**

**“I still question why they had to deduct the damage from our paychecks,” I grouse.**

**Napoleon nods his agreement.**

**“We even managed to stop THRUSH from taking over the White House,” I point out. “And got free judo lessons as well.” I was once again trying to make light of our missions. “And another thing, the next time you need someone to join the cast of an off-Broadway play, you can just find someone else,” I said going for broke.**

**“But who else do we have that can play all those instruments and sing too?” Napoleon threw back.**

**“I am sure we have someone.” Then to change the subject yet again. “Let us not forget our trip to Italy and Pia.” Napoleon had almost managed to get married once again.**

**“Don’t remind me,” Napoleon responds. “If I remember correctly, Miss Diketon took a rather perverse liking to you,” he pointed out.**

**If you can call torture, perverse liking…I am tired of remembering the various times we could have died and fortunately did not. Or had been tortured. “Can we talk of something else?” Deadly bees, attempted murder of U.N.C.L.E.’s headman, eternal youth, earthquakes, attempts to disrupt air traffic, hydrogen bombs, the list goes on and on. Suddenly I am tired. Napoleon was right this past year has been trying.**

**“Do you realize how many assassination attempts we stopped this year alone?” Napoleon shakes his head in wonder.**

**Of course I realize. The young boy, successor to the throne of the high lama had just been one of several. My disguise during that one had been only slightly worse then the one I used in Oklahoma. I scowl. “Between loud noises designed to damage my perfect hearing and being bricked up inside a room, yes. And last but not least, I do not wish to be reminded of the indignity of being locked up with a bunch of poultry at Christmas time.”**

**The waiters are passing out funny hats and noisemakers. I had not realized it was that close to midnight.**

**“Sorry, Illya, but what I have been trying to say and rather poorly,” Napoleon points out, refilling our glasses with champagne. “Is that we have made it though another year relatively unscathed.” He stands and hands me my glass. “There is no one, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, with whom I would rather see in the New Year.” Napoleon raises his glass in salute.**

**I stand as well and clicking my glass to his cannot help but agree. “Happy New Year.”**

**THE END**

**Twenty points if you can guess what season. Bonus points if you can match up the shows.**


End file.
